Young Writers Society

The sky was a rough and roiling purple when Jamie reached the pub. He cast an unhappy glance at the turbulent clouds before he pushed the door open and stepped in, scanning the room. Not many people in – it was Tuesday, after all – but there was a distinctive figure leaning on the bar, the sight of whom stopped Jamie in his tracks. His shoulders hunched over a little, and he edged towards the bar with a scowl on his face.

“You,” he said.

“Jamie!” The angel turned, holding out one of two pints. His posture was slightly stooped, to allow for the great, white-feathered wings folded on his back, the top joints of which rose some inches above his head, while the tips almost brushed the floor. The bar staff hadn’t registered the wings – humans never did – for all they jostled the bar stools as he turned. Jamie felt his own shoulders itching, and shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the sensation.

“I wasn’t expecting –” Jamie stopped, started again. “But I should have done.”

“Have a drink,” the angel – Anton – said, with a nervous smile. “Sit down.”

Reluctantly, Jamie took the proffered pint, and followed Anton to the far end of the bar, where he perched on one of the high stools, like some huge bird. Jamie pulled up the next stool along, and set down his pint without taking a sip, staring fixedly at the grain of the wooden counter.

“I wanted…” Anton began, slowly. “I thought you might like to… talk, now. Given…” He jerked his head toward the wide window, beyond which the weather was really gearing up for a storm. The storm of all storms.

Jamie continued to stare at the bartop, unwilling to lend the angel a hand with this one.

Anton sighed heavily. “James,” he said. “Jamie. I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For everything. Before it’s too late.”

Jamie lifted his head, and fixed him with a blazing glare, the kind where you could see the fires of a Certain Place reflected in his eyes. His lip twisted in an ugly snarl. “Sorry? Sorry! I suppose that makes up for it all, does it?”

“Well –”

“You could have said this sooner, you know. You didn’t have to wait!” He looked away, and clenched the bartop in one hand. Under his fingers, the wood began to char.

Anton shifted on his seat, the wings rustling. He opened his mouth, but seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say, and closed it again. With another sigh, he swivelled to stare out of the window, at the first fat drops of rain hitting the glass.

“It’s starting,” he said.

“It started a long time ago,” Jamie muttered, lifting his hand and staring at the charred marks in the wood.

The rain got heavier, and began to really hammer on the windowpanes. An exclamation from the far end of the bar made Jamie look up. The staff had been gathered around the till, chatting idly in the absence of customers, but now they were all staring at the downpour, confusion and horror written on their faces. Jamie looked over his shoulder, very much resigned to what he was about to see.

Sure enough, there were rivulets of crimson streaking the glass. Torrents of scarlet rain pounded the street outside, completely obscuring the buildings opposite.

“Cue rains of blood,” Jamie said. “And yea, the sky was riven and the world was torn asunder, and blood did rain upon the land which rocked with fearsome thunder.”

“A hundred thousand Lords of Hell came raging through the night,” Anton continued.

“And all the hosts of Heaven rode to meet them in their might.”

They sat, silent, for a long moment. Then Jamie snorted, and turned back to his untouched pint. “It doesn’t say, to meet them in the pub,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be up there, sharpening your flaming sword?”

Anton swivelled back halfway, so he was facing Jamie directly. “Look,” he said. “I didn’t want – I don’t want – to go to the end without speaking to you. Without apologising. I don’t need your forgiveness –”

“Good!” Jamie interrupted. “It’s your lot who’re all up with the forgiveness! Down There, we’re much better at rage, bitterness, and holding a grudge across millennia, I promise you!” He rolled his shoulders, lifting his head a little higher. “Fly away home on your bloody pretty wings, angel. Your house is on fire, and your soldiers are gone.”

Anton didn’t move, just stared, eyes glistening slightly. “You had the most beautiful wings,” he whispered.

Jamie froze.

“I miss… seeing you fly,” Anton said, barely breathing the words. “And flying beside you, all in glory and in joy.” He looked down. “I miss you, Jamie.”

Jamie’s fists curled at his sides. “I’ve got a lovely matched pair of scars instead, these days,” he said, but he couldn’t find the will to make it a growl, and it came out in a soft tone to match the angel’s. And he didn’t mean to say the sentence that followed. “But it takes more than a few thousand years to forget the feeling of wind in your feathers.”

A long pause followed. The floor began to shake, very slightly at first, then more, and more, so that the bar staff screamed, and fled the room, leaving the angel and the demon in their motionless tableau. Outside, thunder roared, and an unearthly light began to burn through the crimson downpour.

Jamie held out a hand, palm up.

Anton looked at it, then up at the demon’s bowed face. “Are you –”

“Take it or leave it, angel!” Jamie snapped. Then, more gently, “My fall was my own. But I forgive you, Anton. For watching.”

Anton seized the outstretched hand. Then, with a strangled sob, he pulled the demon into a tight hug, fanning his huge wings slightly. They remained, entwined, for several heartbeats.

Thunder crashed again, and lightning streaked across the burning sky.

Jamie straightened, and moved both hands through the air in a deliberate arc. A flaming sword appeared in each. He turned the right-hand one around and offered it, hilt first, to Anton, who took it, and then took Jamie’s now-free right hand in his left.

“Against hosts of Heaven?” Jamie said, with half a smile.

“And Lords of Hell,” Anton replied.

“And so I see it comes to pass, when all our time is done,”

“When Judgement Day consumes the stars, the Earth, and Moon and Sun.”

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1089 words. Written for Show Us Your Shorts Month.